Mirrors Don't Lie
by annatubby
Summary: So, the Winchesters decide to check out a new case of a violent murder. Based on Season 2, after "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things." Reference to the episode required. The brother's emotions about John's death is further brough out here.
1. Chapter 1: Another Murder

**Ok, so this is the first chapter of my very first fanfiction. I'm not at all a great fan of this writing style, because I realize that writing down an "episode" is a different form of art, and super hard.**

**This is based on Season 2 of Supernatural, where I imagined an episode between "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things" and "Simon Said."**

**Criticism is appreciated. Please tell me what you think of the first chapter ~**

**Supernatural and the Winchesters (c) Eric Kripke and CW  
Idea of the new hunt (c) me

* * *

**

**Mirrors Don't Lie**

1. **Another Murder **

The car cruised along the road. It was a very calm road. Auburn leaves were scattered all over the highway, and some were still falling from the trees at the moment. The afternoon sun was very mild, caressing the black sheen of the Impala.

"So far as news goes, Mrs. Taylor was an extremely kind lady. There's no chance that someone would hold a grudge against her," Sam informed from the passenger seat. Getting no reply, he cast a sideways glance at his brother.

"Dean, you listening to me?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Then, what did I just say?"

"Mrs. Taylor was an angel."

Sam sighed. He had been trying so hard to at least make Dean feel better after he had told him how he felt about Dad's death. How Dean thought that he himself was responsible for it. Sam was trying so hard to not make him talk about it again, because obviously, he didn't want to.  
Or, he was just putting on his "game face" again so Sam wouldn't ask him something that would get him pissed.

_Hell, Dean's different,_ Sam knew he was thinking right. There was no one in the world who could understand his own brother more than him. And he just hated to see him so confused like that. Still so hurt.

_Or maybe I'm too different_.

Sam's need for talking about John's death seemed to be hard by watching Dean still behave like this. The younger Winchester couldn't help it; even he was so torn up about that. If this was the ache he felt about Dad, then he shied away from imagining how Dean must have been feeling.  
Sam wished John was there. Sam wished those fights would be stored in the past and forgiven. But it was too late to go back. It was too late to change everything.

God, he missed him like crazy.

"Dean," Sam tried again, trying to leave these thoughts behind, "We got a case. Man, you're always so crazy about them, what happened now? They're supposed to make you feel better, right?"

He noticed Dean's finger's tighten around the steering wheel. "It's not about making me feel better, Sam."

"Then what is it? You were right, I couldn't say anything to make you feel better, but I'm trying to!"

Sam panted, a fresh set of tears reaching his eyes. He so hated to see Dean like that. Truthfully, what could he have said to console him? He was far from consoling. It was normal for him to feel that way, but how much longer would he keep hurting?  
And it was so hard for Sam to even think about Dad right now. The longing would just return, the guilt of the fights would just cross his heart again. And he would embrace those emotions, but would Dean? Sam would let it go, he'd accept the way things were, the way things were turning out to be, even if that was hard.

But Dean would try to forget, not accept.

He'd accept…but not let go.

Dean's voice hadn't changed. "Yeah, we got a case. You were saying?"

Sam sighed again. "Mrs. Taylor. I contacted her daughter, Michelle. We're supposed to be her third cousins."

There was still a distant look in his brother's eyes as he slightly smiled. "And the names?"

"Mike and Joseph Jackson."

"You're kidding, right?" Dean's eyes diverted to Sam.

Sam shrugged. "I did a little research, and yeah, turns out they are her third cousins, but they're not gonna show up anytime soon. Michelle hasn't even met them…yet."

*

"Sorry about your mom," Dean said in a straightforward yet consoling tone, "We heard…and thought it wouldn't be nice if we didn't stop by."

He exchanged a glance with Sam.

Michelle's eyes were watering. She smiled faintly. "Thank you. It's nice to hear from family, even if they're distant. I'm sure you've heard many people say this, but family's everything, you know?"

Sam returned her sad smile and Dean nodded. He didn't know what to say, because it was true that he'd heard it so many times.

And deep down, he also knew that this fact was so true that it hurt. He stared back into Michelle's moist dark brown eyes. She somehow seemed to be holding back her feelings about whatever she was going through.  
And somehow, he felt he could relate.

"Uh, so how were you and Mom close again?" she broke the silence.

"We, uh, met when we were really small, I think," Sam tried, "I still remember –" He hesitated. He hadn't really come up with a good theory, but so far, the cousin trick seemed to pull off.

"–the chocolate chips cookies she used to make," Dean completed hastily, "We were four, I guess."

"I don't…" she began, frowning a bit. Then, she heaved a sigh, concluding, "Well, whatever. Mom did speak of you guys, so it's nice to finally have someone with me."

"What about your dad?" Sam asked politely.

"Didn't you know? He died like four years ago," she said unemotionally. The pain in her eyes however seemed to increase, "Mom was everything to me after that…I still have my uncle, but he's a pain in the behind."

Sam looked crestfallen, like he shouldn't have asked that question. Dean stared at her for sometime before continuing. If his mind was registering correctly, she was letting bygones be bygones.

But wasn't she taking it hard?

"If we knew," Dean said slowly, "I guess we would have dropped by then. I am sorry."

Michelle nodded with a shrug, a very compressed, sad sort of a shrug.

"When…when's the funeral?" Sam hesitated once more.

"Tomorrow. You guys are welcome to come, be the way," Michelle replied, staring at her feet for a moment, and then looking up to both of them.

The Winchesters just seemed to be at a loss as in what to say. There was this sort of a vibe from her, which seemed tough to understand.

"We'll definitely pay our respects," Sam finally said.

Dean knew that the case needed to get a move on before long. He probably needed to sit down and talk to her about all this. He felt like he should. He felt like he needed to.

"Could we see the crime scene? That is, if it's okay with you," he asked.

"Everything's left as it was," Michelle explained as she led them up the stairs of her huge house, "Except the body of course."

She gingerly opened the bedroom door and allowed them inside. Sam and Dean cautiously walked in, crinkling their nose at the stench of the blood.

Michelle stood by the door as they examined the scene.

Blood. There was blood almost everywhere, as if Mrs. Taylor was ripped apart by her murderer. The papers had noted that she had been sliced from limb to limb, and every part of her skin. It definitely couldn't pass off as a case of suicide.  
Whoever, or whatever, had killed her had been intensely violent. Overdriven with hatred.

Sam knelt down in front of the dressing table. He frowned as he noticed the blood splattered on the mirror.

"Hey, Dean, check this out."

Dean bent down to follow Sam's gaze. On the corner of the mirror, there were vertical streaks of blood. As he looked closely, he could understand the letters that were smudged there.

_I told you I would win. _

It was so tiny, yet it was such a clear message.

"Hey, Michelle?" Sam called out to her. She walked over to them in response, staring questioningly.

"Did you know about this?"

Michelle gasped in a low voice. She shook her head. "No…"

Dean eyed her, trying to figure out whether she was lying or not.

She seemed to be totally truthful.

"Did your Mom have any enemies?" Sam asked again.

She scoffed. "Are you joking? Of course not. Why do you think it's a shock to me?"

She remained quiet, her fingers clenched into a fist. A sorrowful expression settled on her.

Dean, however, could see that she was struggling to fight it.

Sam nodded. He looked over to Dean, who gave another nod.

An understanding passed between them.

_Definitely our kind of case_.

Sam's attention shifted back to her. "What if we told you that we wanna help you track down your mother's killer?"

Michelle's eyebrows rose. She looked skeptical. "I wanna get to the bottom of this, too, guys, she was my Mom. But, why would you wanna help me?"

"Uh…what's family for, huh?" Dean explained.

"And we have a knack for this," Sam added.

Michelle continued to gaze at both of them in an expression that indicated she felt this sudden offer was officially weird. "Being a couple of detectives when the police are already working on the case?"

"Maybe we could speed it up," Dean replied, "Trust me; we can be good at this."

And some part inside of him also urged to tell her, _Trust me. You need to talk about it, or it'll kill you. _


	2. Chapter 2: Doubt

**So, I hope you've enjoyed chapter one. This isn't a big chapter, but it does give the story a move on. enjoy~**

* * *

2. Doubt

"I'm telling you, Dean, we gotta search for the inside story of the family. After all this research _all_ night, I couldn't find squat about anything related in this town – or other general facts that can explain such kind of death."

Sam looked up from his computer screen. He was sitting at an angle on the soft covers of the bed in the new motel room.

"So we should pay Michelle another visit," Dean called from the bathroom, "Or have a little chat with her uncle, right?"

"That seems to be about the best thing we can do," Sam replied, scrolling down in the window of the web site. There wasn't anything interesting here as well.

Sighing, he typed in another name in the URL tab.

"I'm still working on the local news," he continued, "Looks like this case isn't gonna give us clues that easily."

Dean was still staring into the mirror above the sink. Tired green eyes stared back at him. At first, he had though that this act would trigger a sort of inspiration for the next possible step of this murder case, but his thoughts ended up being cluttered.

He tried to keep pace with the information Sam was giving him.

"Makes it all the more intriguing," he muttered back loudly so his younger brother could hear.

Sam scoffed. "I'm bored too, but this is the best shot. There doesn't seem to be any other _intriguing _case nearby."

The older Winchester continued to look at his reflection. He was blind to what he was seeing at the moment. His mind was working on other complications. Yes, this case was boring. He wanted to get into the bottom of this, because the slower this took to go forward, the more he would think about how pathetic his life was. He needed action. He needed this to heat up for more concentration on his job.

The hole in his gut still bothered him. It somehow still affected him; it somehow still remained ever since he was brought back alive.

His eyes closed reflexively at that thought. Yes, Dad had died because of him. The one man he had worshipped. He could feel the beating of his heart increase painfully. A frightening ache caught hold of his stomach.

"Dean? Hey, you gotta come see this."

Dean's eyes flew open. He coughed slightly, blinking back his tears. He walked over to Sam's bed, preferring not to talk, afraid how his voice might give away his feelings.

His brother was pointing at the computer screen. There was a snapshot of Mrs. Taylor's body.

Dean cringed. "Ew."

There she was, a tall lady lying on the floor. She looked like an older version of Michelle, with the same shade of the brown hair.

Not just lying, pretty much dead. Blood was oozing out of her mouth and also her open eyes. She had fallen in an awkward position. Her wrists, neck and her stomach was slit…it was a clear loss of blood. So many parts slit open…even the flesh was visible. Her chest was ripped out.

"We gotta talk to Michelle," Sam said, exhaling a loud sigh.

*

"You think I'm so stupid?!" she fired at their faces.

Sam and Dean both stared a little blankly at her.

"Guess who called yesterday?" she continued, her voice shaking with anger, "Mike and Joseph. You know, my real cousins? They said they were very sorry they couldn't be with me at a difficult time like this 'coz they're still stuck in _Mexico_!"

"We….er," Dean tried.

Michelle shook her head. She panted, hatred crossing her expression. "Look, I don't know who you guys are, and yesterday I did have my suspicions. I don't know what you want, but how the hell dare you even think of impersonating my family?!"

Sam held out a hand in an assuring manner as he spoke politely. "Okay, you see, I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean. We didn't have another choice. Why would you want to talk to complete strangers?"

"And why would you wanna do this, huh?"

"Michelle, I know even you believe that the way your Mom died…it couldn't have been a sane human," Sam continued slowly.

She was still panting. The door shut behind her with a bang as she stood out on the porch, her arms folded.

"No. Listen. I don't even know you. You two don't have anything to do with my life, with my problems. Just get out."

Dean shot her a disapproving look. Repeating that they wanted to help wouldn't really…help. He caught Sam by the sleeve and steered him to the staircase leading to the front lane.

"Fine. Com'n, Sammy. We're leaving."

Sam gave up as well and followed Dean to the car.

As soon as he got into the passenger seat, a shooting headache blinded him. His left hand reached for his temples as groaned.

Someone was screaming. There was blood everywhere. Flashes of red blotted his vision. It was a woman's scream. She twisted and turned on the ground, as more blood sprayed across the floor. The screeching pain through her ripped skin caused Sam to lose control of everything in front of him. His focus faded away, the whitish tinge of the images dominated by the red of the blood. He bent forward, breathing heavily. The headache continued, like a ton of hammers striking his brain like a gong.

"Sam…Sam, hey!"

There was an arm around his shoulder. Dean's arm.

"Sammy, hey. Snap out of it. What the hell…"

Finally, Sam blinked as he came to. He felt feverish. Dean had his fingers gripped tightly on his shoulder.

Sam sighed, listening to his increased heart rate slow down to a normal pace. His brother removed his arm and asked, "Another…premonition?"

Sam closed his eyes in response. He hated to hear that word. He thought his psychic abilities had ceased, but now it seemed they weren't going to leave anytime soon. The vision was still very clear in his memory.

His tired eyes diverted to Dean. "I think…for the first time, I saw someone die from the past."


	3. Chapter 3: Magic

**There might be somethings in the fanfic that Sam and Dean find out about later, some details that they might have found out in Season 3 and 4 only. But, anyway, the whole point that this is based on Season 2 is becuase of the emotional status of the brothers right after their dad's death. **

**Hope it's okay~! **

* * *

3. Magic

"I feel stupid doing this. I thought she had told us not to come back," Dean complained as he watched Sam make the green light beep on the alarm system.

"Dean, something in this house made my visions just return, and not normally, too," he whispered, turning the knob to open the door.

Darkness lay beyond it. They could make out the faint outlines of the furniture through light coming in from the transparent curtains. It was about three am, and the moon was still up.

"And what makes you think that we'd find anything here?"

Sam walked soundlessly into the house. "Don't tell me you don't find her weird."

"I do," Dean admitted straightforwardly, "That girl's not telling us everything. But you can't really blame her, Sam." He switched on his flashlight as Sam worked the EMF meter.

"And again, I repeat, there's something tying me to this house to that made that vision happen," he said determinedly, "I'm not letting that go."

There was no response from the EMF meter. They took care not to collide with something, and kept their voice at a safe audible range. Their searches were futile. It looked like any other normal house, like nothing supernatural could ever be connected to it.

"What now, the top floor?" Dean asked, casting the glow of the flashlight on the stairs.

"I guess," Sam said.

As they climbed carefully up each step, Dean finally popped up the question that was bothering him for a long time. "Did you see how she died? Like, what killed her?"

"Do I look like I found such a big thing?" Sam argued. After a troubled pause, he added, "I dunno, man. These premonitions…they're worrying the hell out of me."

"Yeah, well, mind on the case right now," Dean replied. He preferred to remain silent about this. Even he was so very scared about what his little brother was going through. First, it was Dad's death, and now he had Sam having his premonitions again…every single thing led somehow linked them to the demon. He remembered when Sam had explained that yellow-eyes had said he had plans for kids like Sammy. It freaked Dean out. What had Sam done to deserve this? Who were these "special kids"?

It was a cupboard in the corridor that caught both their attentions. Both the Winchesters' intuition flickered to life.

Sam bent down, holding the EMF meter close to the shelves of the cupboard. Nothing happened. Dean bent down along with him, casting the light all over the cupboard. Suddenly, he noticed something sticking out from behind two books. It was like a piece of dark cloth.

He gingerly pulled it out. Frowning, he showed it to Sam, who exchanged very surprised looks with him.

*

Dean held up the little brown cloth bag as Michelle gasped in surprise.

"Will this be enough to let me in?"

He stood alone on the porch. He had allowed Sam to stay back and continue his research on the hex bag.

"There's clearly a _witch_ in your house."

"Where did you get that?!"

The strong hold that she had in her voice during the past their past two encounters seemed to be stolen. Her eyes were disbelievingly staring at the bag. Her hand shook on the knob of the door.

"I have the biggest urge to tell you everything about me and my brother," Dean went on smoothly, still holding it lightly between his fingers, "This does indicate your interaction with supernatural things, huh?"

He gave her a smug, triumphant smile.

"Please stay out," Michelle commanded, "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Michelle, wait," Dean stopped her closing the door with his free hand. He tried to keep his voice as even as possible, "I don't have to be a complete stranger. We really wanna help."

She sucked in a tired breath. Dean could see the real feelings trapped inside of her, and this vulnerability exposing.

"Please."

"She was your family, I know. And I do know how hard that is to lose someone like that," he tried again, "Trust me. You don't wanna talk about it. You're holding back. I've been through the same thing. Now, you have to believe that I wanna help or we'll never figure out this wise ass case."

Her hand relaxed its grip on the door knob as she looked directly up at him. Dean wanted her to pour out her feelings; he didn't mind listening to them. He could see it in her eyes. That forced tension of not talking about it, as if her own feelings weren't in her power.

"I just wanna talk," Dean added.

Michelle stood aside to let him in. Her outer shell seemed to break.

"Just don't let my uncle know you're here. Come up to my room."

Relieved that he got through her at least a little, he followed her up the stairs. They passed the cupboard where he had found the hex bag the previous night.

It was a very simple room. There were a few posters on the beige coloured walls, and the bed was so neat it seemed that it had been made just a few seconds back. She motioned Dean to sit on the chair in front of the table. She sat opposite to him on the bed.

After a long silence, which Dean allowed to be filled, Michelle pointed at the hex bag he was still holding.

"That was my mom's, by the way."

Dean looked down at the brown bag. A series of questions burst into his mind, but he knew she needed time to tell him everything.

He knew how it was to be feeling like this. And he just couldn't watch someone else going through the same pain he was. She needed to talk to him.

It was all he could think about at the moment.

He handed over the hex bag, asking, "So, your mom was a witch?"

"That's right," Michelle replied, staring longingly at it as she held it carefully.

"Why do I get the feeling your uncle confines you behind bars of this place?" Dean proceeded after another silence.

"He literally hates me. I just graduated college, you know? And I can't even keep contact with my friends…he doesn't even want me to go out looking for anything! Career options and what not," Michelle waved a hand to show the variety of things she could be doing in life, "But he's the only family I have left here. He says it's so I don't get hurt, like my mum and dad."

"No offence, but he seems a lot like a bastard to me."

Michelle laughed. "That's exactly what he is."

The minute she spoke about her parents, Dean's mind rushed back to the first day that he had met her. Something was wrong every time they talked about her dad's death, she seemed to know more than she was saying. That aura was still there about her.

Then again, why should she say everything to him?

But Dean went on nevertheless. He was determined to relieve this tension from her.

"This is gonna sound super crazy, but I get that you knew how your dad died."

Michelle looked straight up at him. Their eyes met for some time, and as she broke away, she bit her lip.

"My uncle's my dad's brother," she finally began, "He knew the truth about my mom. So did dad, but dad loved her. My uncle, on the other hand, just detested her. He thought that she was some kind of a freak.

"Dad died because of an asthma attack. It was very normal…he was suffering from it for days. But somehow it drilled into my uncle's brain that my mom was the one who did it. With her magic. The truth is, my mom wouldn't hurt a fly. She was one of the best of her kind."

Dean nodded as he listened.

"Are you a witch too?"

"No," she smiled faintly, "I have my dad's genes."

Her expression was filled with confusion and sorrow again. Dean tried to fit the pieces of the story together with Mrs. Taylor's death.

If there was anyone who wanted revenge, it would be the uncle. But he couldn't have done the bloody thing himself, that wasn't possible. That was something that didn't fit into the scene, and not with the description of Sam's visions, anyway.

"Why do you care so much about what I'm going through?"

Dean looked at her again, breaking away from his thoughts.

Michelle tried again, "Is it too personal a question, but how do you know about hex bags?"

She caught him by the wrist and made him sit next to her.

Dean heaved a sigh. "My brother and I travel across the country fighting these supernatural things that keep wiping people off the map. My dad was what you'd call a hunter. So Sam and I are just continuing the family business."

He kept it short, hoping she would understand.

"Wait, so there are more supernatural things out there other than witches? And they're real?"

Dean nodded. "That's right."

"So you guys are risking your lives doing all this?"

"Sort of."

She sucked in a breath again, taking it all in. She stared into space for a long time as Dean allowed her to reflect.

"Wait, what d'you mean your dad _was_ a hunter?"

Dean looked down at his feet. "He passed a few weeks back."

Michelle went deadly silent, understanding. That answered her question, Dean thought. This is why he was giving a damn. This is why he was sitting and talking to her about all of this, forgetting the case for a while.

Soft fingers suddenly passed through his hair. He did not complain of that touch, it felt nice and soothing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I guess it's hard for you."

Dean scoffed. She had no idea.

But she was the one who made the first move. Shifting her fingers down to his neck, she slowly and softly made her lips lock with his. Dean kissed her back, caressing her hair this time.

After a few seconds passed and they broke away, she smiled slightly, looking up at him.

"Does that make you feel a little better?"

"Hell yeah," Dean chuckled, leaning in to kiss her again.

"_Michelle."_

It was hard, cold, yet distant voice. There was raspy touch to it.

Both of them broke away again, listening intently. The voice seemed to come from behind one of the walls, but it echoed so much it was hard to tell which one.

"D'you know that voice?"

Michelle shook her head. Her scared eyes scanned the entire room. "What is it?"

"The question is, how does it know you?"

"_Michelle."_

She clenched her fists, slightly in anger and frustration, out of the fear she was feeling. Dean stood up from the bed, his senses in full alert.

That was when a click was heard. From a gun.

"Get away from her."

Dean spun around, muttering loudly, "Son of a bitch!" He raised his hands halfway.


End file.
